His face settled into a cold, hard mask. He was about to turn away when a white stallion raced across the courtyard, straight toward Shana. She showed no fear, but stayed her ground with her head held high, facing the intruder unafraid. The stallion stopped in a flurry of dust; a dark-haired man leaped from the saddle. She was caught up against his chest, clearly a willing captive of his arms. Thorne's lip curled as their mouths clung together in an unbroken kiss that spoke of long—and intimate—acquaintance.
Shana clung to Barris long after he released her lips. She was very much afraid she was making a brazen spectacle of herself, but she couldn't bring herself to care right now. It felt so good to be held again, to cling to someone near and dear and comfortably familiar.
Even as a child, Shana had loved and admired Barris. He was keen of wit, clever, and passionate, yet Shana was certain no man was ever more sensitive and tender. But it was only when she'd grown to womanhood that Barris had truly begun to notice her. Kendal had been reluctant to wed his daughter out of expedience and not for love, for he and her mother had loved each other deeply. He could not bear to see her marry a man she did not love, and so he had held off. Shana, too, had been determined to settle for no less than the happiness her parents had shared. Springtime had seen the culmination of all her secret yearnings ...
Barris had asked for her hand in marriage. They were to wed after the fall harvest.
Now her beloved caught her in his arms, availing himself of a long, sweet kiss that sent her heart spinning. "I've only just returned from Gywnedd and learned Merwen was stormed a few days past." He searched her features anxiously. "You are all right, love? You were not harmed?"
Pain burned like fire in her chest. "I am unharmed," she said unevenly. "But my father ..." A hot ache closed her throat.
Barris was stunned. "Nay, it cannot be! Your father is dead?"
Her eyes filled with tears. It was all the answer Barris needed.
He wrapped her close once more. "You need not worry, love. I will care for you, this I swear. And I will find the fiend responsible for your father's death," he vowed. "I will search him out and ..."
Shana pulled back, shaking her head. "There is no need," she said quietly. "I have already seen to it."
His hands tightened on her shoulders. He stared at her, convinced his hearing had failed him.
A ghost of a smile grazed her lips. " "Tis true, Barris. My father yet lived when I reached him. He did not recognize our attackers, but he—and others—saw the pennon they carried."
Barris's face was like a thundercloud. "Englishmen?"
She nodded. "They gather at Castle Langley," she said bitterly. "It appears Merwen was one of their targets." She told him how they had gone to Langley to seek out and identify their quarry.
Barris was both furious and aghast. "Are you mad?" he cried. "You marched straight into the hornet's nest with no fear of being stung? Why didn't you wait until I returned?"
"The duty was mine and mine alone." She withdrew from the binding of his arms, her eyes flashing silver fire. "My plan was simple but effective. I was able to find the man behind the attack on Merwen. I merely told him I knew someone who might lead him to the Dragon, then lured him outside the castle where we were able to capture him."
"Sweet Mother Mary," he muttered. "I pray you didn't tell him who you are!"
Shana bristled. "I was careful to speak to as few as possible. I had no wish to attract attention to myself."
"But you must have been seen leaving with him!"
She bit her lip. This was one detail she had overlooked; it seemed she hadn't been so clever, after all. "We've kept to ourselves here at Merwen, Barris." She sought to assure both him and herself. "I know not a soul in England, so how could anyone at Langley possibly suspect who I am? They may comb the area around Langley, but they will never search this far into Wales. The earl told no one of his plans, and I sent a man back to release his horse in the border lands. If perchance they find his horse wandering, they will think he's been thrown—or has met with some other foul play."
Barris had gone as pale as a mountain snow. "I pray you are right, for all our sakes."
Shana felt a hand at her sleeve. One of the kitchen boys stood at her elbow. "Begging your pardon, milady, but the prisoner demands to speak with you."
She glanced inquiringly at Barris. "By all means," he muttered. "I've an urge to meet this butcher."
Shana nodded to the boy. "Please ask Sir Gryffen to bring him into the hall." The boy ran off. She and Barris followed more slowly. They had been waiting in the great hall for several minutes when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Gryffen descended the last steps, slightly behind the earl, whose hands were still tied behind his back. The grizzled knight guided him to a low-backed chair in the center of the room.
Shana and Barris had been standing in the shadows at the edge of the hall. Once seated, the earl tilted his head to stare at them. In so doing, the light fell full upon his face.
An unearthly quiet prevailed.
Beside her, Barris drew a harsh breath. She felt him go rigid as stone and glanced at him in surprise.
His gaze was riveted to the earl. "Jesu," he whispered. "Shana, do you know who this man is?"
Her reply was a bit indignant. "This is the man who saw my father and all the others killed—the Earl of Weston!"
"Aye," Barris said grimly. "The Bastard Earl."
Chapter 4
The world seemed to pitch and roll. It could not be, Shana thought numbly. The Earl of Weston ... the Bastard Earl ... were they truly one and the same? Her heart rebelled; her mind recoiled. She turned to Barris, crying out in fervent denial.
"Barris, how can you be sure? Mayhap you are mistaken. Mayhap there is but a fleeting resemblance ..."
Barris shook his head. "I make no mistake, Shana. I saw him at the king's court a few years past, and his is not a face one soon forgets. Aye," he vowed again. "He's the Bastard Earl, all right. You've only to look at him to know it's true."
She did look; there was no help for it. He drew her gaze with a force more powerful than she. His presence filled the hall like a chilling wind from the sea—the man known as the Bastard Earl. Even Shana, who knew little of England, had heard of him. Bastard or no, he'd inched his way into the king's pocket. Over the years he'd been raised to a position of considerable consequence and independence. He was known far and wide for his prowess on the battlefield; his exploits with women, so it was said, were legendary ... and legion
Three steps brought her before him. "The boy at Langley—Will, he was called. Why, he sang your praises to the heavens and beyond," she stated clearly. "Children gape, he said, when you chance to pass by. And women strain to catch a glimpse of you. Ah, and now I know why. Because one so ignoble—a bastard yet!—pretends to be their better!" Had she been herself, she never would have been so thoughtlessly cruel. But she was so angry she was shaking with it, for now that she was back at Merwen, the horrors brought to bear here flooded her like a tide from the sea.
A mocking smile curled that harshly carved mouth. There was black venom in the eyes that so boldly challenged hers. Had she known him better, she'd have been wary of the glint in his eye. "Unlike you, milady, I made no attempt to conceal my identity. I am who I am and will ever be so."
Her reply was heated and instantaneous. "Aye, on that we are agreed! Bastard Earl, Earl of Weston, I care not what name you call yourself. Either way you are still the man who laid siege to Merwen without cause. You massacred my people, my father among them! And yet you vow no knowledge of your battle here. Mayhap you'd like us to dig up the dead and show you the proof!"
So it was her father, not her husband ... Thorne was beginning to understand. Another time, mayhap, and he might have had some glimmer of compassion for her. But not now—not with his own life in jeopardy.
His stare was coldly aloof. "I tell you again, princess. I sent no troops to ravage this place or any other."
An icy frost
settled around Shana's heart. "Do you deny your presence at Langley—your reason for traveling there? Your king seeks to crush the spine of Wales once and for all. I saw the soldiers myself!"
"I do not deny it," he said evenly. He met her challenge with one of his own. "But you claim this battle was fought two nights past, and so I would tell you this. My men and I, princess, were indeed occupied that night. But there was naught of battle in our hearts. Indeed, we spent most of the night dallying in a village near Radnor." That familiar, mocking smile reappeared. "I am as guilty as any of my men, for I fear a blond, buxom maid proved too tempting to ignore. I wielded my blade the night through, though not in the fashion of which you accuse."
She reacted unthinkingly. Her hand shot out and delivered a stinging slap against his cheek; the sound split the air like a crack of thunder. "And you, sir, dally with me once too often!"
"Shana!" Barris stepped forward and laid a restraining hand on her arm. His heart lurched, for her blow had been surprisingly strong. For an instant the unmistakable urge for retaliation blazed in the earl's eyes. The next second, his features were shuttered and hard. Though he held himself perfectly still, Barris could scarce ignore the impression of great strength held under steely control.
Barris pulled Shana close to his side, settling a protective hand at her waist. He'd kept his silence up until now, gauging the earl closely, hoping to gain some clue as to why he would lie.
"You claim you are innocent," he said at last. "But Lady Shana has told me her father saw the pennon carried by the attackers."
"Aye!" she put in. "Blood-red with a two-headed creature of the deep!"
Barris had yet to take his eyes from Thorne. "Well, milord? Does she describe your pennon?"
A small crowd had gathered near the stairs. "That's the one, all right," someone shouted. " 'Twas just as Lord Kendal said!"
"He needn't deny it," shouted another. "We know he's the one—he and his men struck down our own!"
Thorne paid them no heed. "The pennon is mine," he confirmed flatly. His gaze slid back to rest with cool deliberation on Shana. "But it occurs to me your father sought to transfer blame to me for some unknown purpose. Or mayhap you were attacked by some of your own. 'Tis well known," he went on, "how you Welsh squabble among yourselves."
Shana's ire came flooding back. "My father was not one to plunder his neighbors," she cried. "He did not rule his lands with lance and shield, but with a firm and gentle hand. He was a simple man who wanted only to be left alone to tend to the breeding of his sheep, and his honor would never permit him to blame someone without just cause!
"Nay," she went on, " 'twas you who swept into Wales with a sword in your hand. Only you and your men chose not to fight on a field of battle! They came to kill and maim—and for no other reason! Merwen is no fortress—we have no moat, no towers or palisade. Those who died here had no chance to take up arms against you! So tell me, my lord earl, what kind of soldier preys against the weak and defenseless?"
"Believe what you will, princess. It matters little to me, for I myself know the truth."
"The truth? I wonder if we shall ever know the truth," Shana said bitterly. "Indeed, I wonder if you knew Merwen belonged to my father—if this was some vile plot of King Edward's to eliminate Llywelyn and all his kin."
"That may or may not be," Barris said slowly, his gaze locked on the prisoner. "But now that we have him, what are we to do with him?"
For the space of a heartbeat, all was quiet. Then a thunderous clamor rang out. "He deserves no mercy after what he did here," came a shout, and then another. "Kill him and be done with it!"
A resounding din filled the air. "Aye, kill him and have done with the scourge!"
Sir Gryffen cleared his throat. "Forgive me, milord, but methinks there's been bloodshed enough already. Is there truly a need for more? Can we not hold him prisoner until this strife with England passes?"
"I fear it will never come to an end. The English have their fingers 'round our neck and they'll not let go." Quiet as his voice was, Barris was fiercely intent. "And Merwen has no dungeon, Gryffen Had I the means to detain him myself, I would do so, but Frydd is no more a fortress than Merwen. 'Twould be only too easy for him to escape and return with more troops." He pondered a moment. 'To let him live is a death sentence for the rest of us."
"Better him than us," proclaimed a knight from the doorway.
Throughout, Thorne held himself very still. A chill swept through to the very marrow of his bones. He did not delude himself. He knew full well what they intended. It was murder they were about. His murder.
Barris glanced back at him. "I'm afraid we have no choice," he said tonelessly. "The earl must die."
Through a haze, Shana heard her own voice, though she was not aware that she spoke. She heard herself whisper, "When?"
Barris hesitated, yet his purpose did not sway. "Edward hasn't forgiven the Welsh for their part in supporting Earl Simon at Evesham." He nodded at Thorne. "Now we have one of his most trusted and loyal lieutenants, something I'll wager the king will not take lightly, should he ever find out. Most likely he would come down on our heads harder still. Edward must never know he was here," he stated with blunt finality. "What if he should send his army after him? Nor can we take the chance that someone has followed him here. Nay," he said with a shake of his head, "the sooner our guest here is gone, the better."
Barris gazed at the earl while he spoke. The Englishman was taking the news of his impending execution remarkably well, he decided. A flicker of admiration ran through him, but mingled within was a distinct sense of unease. The earl's lack of emotion was somehow disturbing, his features carved in rigid, stoic lines. Only his eyes betrayed him, leaping like silent lightning, as if he were a predator who awaited the right moment to pounce on his prey.
Again Barris's gaze came to bear on Shana. He was moved to pity for he suspected she had not realized it would come to this. He pulled her aside and reached for her hands. They were ice-cold. "Shana," he said softly. "There is no other way but to see him executed. Merwen has lost too many lives already. I'll not risk any more." Especially yours, he added silently.
Shana gave a tiny shake of her head, duty and resilience faltering. She swallowed painfully, her eyes coming up to meet his. "Then let it be done," she whispered. "Just ... let it be done."
He squeezed her hands in gentle encouragement and released her. He turned to accompany her from the hall, but the pair had scarce retreated more than a step before the earl's voice rang out.
"Wait!"
They turned. The earl's gaze encompassed them both, piercing and unwavering. "I demand to see a priest."
Barris's eyes narrowed. "As I see it, you are hardly in a position to make demands." When the earl said nothing, he smiled thinly. "A priest, you say! Why, milord, do you mean to tell me you wish to atone for your many sins?"
Thorne neither confirmed nor denied it. "I appeal to your mercy, milord, milady. Is it not enough that you've sentenced me to death? Or would you send me there without God's blessing?"
There was naught of entreaty in either his voice or his face as he boldly confronted them. Barris scowled. "You gave no such consideration to those you killed here," he said sharply. "Yet you dare to expect such leniency from us?"
Thorne regarded them unblinkingly. "I wish a priest," was all he would say.
Sir Gryffen stepped forward. "Father Meredith was killed in the fray," he said quietly. He looked to Shana. "It would be well into the night before I returned, but I will ride to the monastery at Tusk for a priest if you wish, milady."
Shana's eyes sought Barris, who did not miss the silent plea there. She was as pale and drawn as he had ever seen her, he thought with a twist of his heart. Her features told more clearly than words the strain these past days had wrought. He had no choice, he realized wearily, but to accede to her wishes."
His lips tightened. He spared the prisoner a long look, his features unusually hard. "You will have your p
riest," he said curtly. "Were it up to me, I would have you dispatched this very hour. But know this, Lord Weston, once you've made your confession the deed will most certainly be done—and with all haste." One of the knights stepped forward. Barris jerked his head toward the earl. "See that he is locked up again."
Shana could not watch the knight lead the earl away. She made her way to a bench near the wall, all at once feeling dizzy and shaky. When she gathered the courage to lift her head, she found
Barris eyeing her in a way she had never encountered before, his expression enigmatic. She drew a quick breath. It spun through her mind that she was staring at a stranger.
He tipped his head to the side, and when he spoke, the pitch of his voice was very low. "You think me cruel, don't you?"
"Cruel?" she echoed. To his surprise, a sad, wistful smile touched her lips. "You are demanding, aye. And never have I seen you so—so forceful. But I do not think you cruel. I think you merely do what you must," her smile withered, "as do we all."
He swore beneath his breath. He started toward her, his only intent to vanquish the shadows from her face, but at that instant, the sound of pounding hooves resounded in the courtyard. Shana had scarce risen to her feet than a young boy scurried through the entrance.
He rushed toward Barris. "Milord! One of your men is here. He has with him a message of grave importance!"
Shana glanced at Barris sharply. "I will come with you ..." she began.
With a hand on her shoulder, he held her in place. "There is no need. Stay here, love. I promise I'll not be long." His tone brooked no argument. For the second time in as many minutes she found herself unable to banish the notion that this man she knew so well was one she scarce knew at all.
She began to pace the length of the hall As he'd promised, he was not long. Shana held her breath as he strode to her; there was an air of urgency about him that she neither understood nor liked. Once again he took her hands.
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